


Just Like Meteor Showers in the Night Sky

by ImLuvinMyThesaurus



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Attraction, Emotional, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Fireplaces, Internal Monologue, Road Trips, Secret Santa, Stargazing, Trust, meteor shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 14:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImLuvinMyThesaurus/pseuds/ImLuvinMyThesaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a journey to find his son, Bass and Charlie watch the Geminids meteor shower, while he ponders the past and their future together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like Meteor Showers in the Night Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carlier36 (lovesrogue36)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesrogue36/gifts).



> This is a secret santa gift fic, so I hope lovesrogue36 likes it and everyone else enjoys it too. It was a lot of fun, but it totally kicked my rear. I should have another one to post in a couple days.
> 
> This story takes place some time after 2x09.

He didn't know if he was ever going to find his son.

As his eyes wandered around the walls of the shabby cabin serving as home for the evening, before returning to the fire he was tending, Bass couldn't help his thoughts heading in the direction of his son every so often. That was the whole purpose for this side trip, finding his kid. It had been difficult and Miles only had limited, old information about his location, so it was a bit of a crapshoot anyway. With his luck, he wasn't betting on a positive outcome.

However, his location was only one side of the question. The other, was whether he deserved to find him.

There were times when he was at his worst where he questioned whether or not he should even be trying to find the kid...man. Wherever he was, any offspring of his affair with Emma would be fully grown, a man in his twenties, with a life of his own. Hell, maybe Bass had grandchildren, and wasn't that just the strangest thing ever? But that just illustrated his point; his son would have built an entire world without a father in it. He probably wouldn't want anything to do with him, and Bass wouldn't really be able to blame the man if it turned out that way.

Had Emma ever told him anything about his father? Miles hadn't known if the kid was aware of him and Bass wasn't even sure if he was going to tell him his identity. He was trying to turn over a new leaf, be less...crazy. It was slightly pathetic to expect his son to want to drop everything to hang out with a middle-aged man he'd never met before and probably only heard awful things about. It was even more pathetic to pin all his hope of family and acceptance on the kid. That was why Bass had made a promise to himself...and to Emma. If his son had a good life, if he was happy, he didn't think he would interfere with it.

If he could be found.

They hadn't had any luck thus far and this search they were on had become something of an enigmatic quest.

_They._

There was a 'they' now. Him and her. Bass and Charlotte. They'd become a unit of sorts. Working together to bring down the Patriots and now they were trying to locate his son.

Bass sighed heavily, head craning to eye up her form out on the deck of the cabin, as he thought about how all this had come about, how he and Charlotte ended up together.

At least thinking about her would take his mind off this journey to find his kid...and contemplating what he'd do if he ever did.

The Patriots were smart; they had planning, money, supplies, and an assumed nationalistic identity on their side. People had loved their country at one point and here came this militaristic group of people claiming to be the remnant, sweeping in to clear house and reunite the nation. It sold most people on the rose-colored glasses factor alone. The food and security didn't hurt. Those working against them had become villains, fighting the heroes and there was very little public support for them. They had to attack and grab, using small-scale tactics as they slowly tried to build a network of people to ally with them. Things were anarchic (especially in the east), supplies low; people were dying in the streets once more. It had degenerated into a situation closely resembling the first few years after the blackout. And no one wanted to live through that again, hence why most people eagerly accepted the Patriot presence. It didn't help that the nanites had seemingly turned against them and that their foe had a strange ability to constantly replenish its numbers.

The strategies they'd been using hadn't worked all that well for them. So, they'd pulled back, deciding to work on intel instead, and they'd gotten lucky, found out Tom Neville and his son were alive and working with the Patriots in Washington DC. They'd all seen the agenda involved in that, and it had been decided that the group needed to split up. Rachel and Miles would go to Washington, Aaron and Gene would follow the path the nanites were insisting they tread before giving Aaron control of them again, and Bass, not being able to afford to be seen by people on the East Coast, was finally given the last known location of his son, the California Commonwealth. Coincidentally, the Commonwealth was also the last of the Republics to be invaded by the Patriots. He was supposed to locate his kid and make sure he was well. While approaching him was entirely up to Bass, there was another purpose to this voyage of his. He was to get as much intel on the Patriots actions in the west as possible, while making inroads with the connections he had in the California government. The Monroe Republic's relationship with California had been the one least fraught with dispute and confrontation, owing more to distance than anything else. The two Republics hadn't shared any borders, had no major conflicts, and trade had been successfully negotiated between the two regions. Hence, the second part of his assignment.

The three groups would meet back up in northern Texas in 8 months. It had been an awful plan, but desperate times made it the only one they could come up with that might enable them to eventually fight back. It had been expected (by everyone) that Charlotte would go with either of the other two groups. Bass could tell Miles was hoping she'd go with him and her mother. He guessed his old friend, having gone soft as a limp noodle, was dreaming up some sort of fucked up family road trip scenario, where bonding and kumbayas would abound. When she'd announced she'd be going with Bass, everyone had been shocked. Then the yelling and anger had set in. Rachel had idiotically decided to outright forbid the girl from accompanying him and from the angry, resigned glint in Miles's eyes, he along with Bass had figured out that alone would push her away from her mother. The mulish tilt Charlotte's chin had taken on at the demand along with her angry retort had sealed the deal.

They still hadn't agreed to it though, so Charlotte had taken them into the next room and talked to them. It hadn't been long before the door had opened and Rachel had come out stricken, followed by a rather gray looking Miles, and a determined Charlotte. Miles had yanked him aside next and had threatened all manner of emasculating torture on him should any harm befall his niece on this excursion of theirs.

He still wasn't sure how she had convinced Miles and Rachel to allow her to travel with him. Charlotte had insisted on coming with him, that pairing off would be good--it would allow her time to see if she could trust him fully and vice versa, which he'd appreciated. She'd argued that everyone else had a partner to watch their back, that he needed one too. Bass's throat had gotten tight and he'd had to swallow hard to rid himself of the sensation. It'd been too long since anyone had really given a crap about him and he let himself enjoy the feeling, even as Charlotte was arguing it out with Miles and Rachel behind closed doors. He didn't know what had been said in the privacy of that room to convince them, he could only guess, and in all likelihood he'd be wrong anyway. Although, Bass thought at least part of the underlying reason she chose to go with him was her discomfort over the evolving relationship between Miles and Rachel.

Bass wasn't sure what had gone down there. He wasn't sure he even wanted to know. He'd taken a lot of Matheson drama in the past and he didn't think he wanted to get involved in any more. This was humorous in itself, as he used to eat, sleep, and breathe Matheson bullshit, but he supposed everything had its limits. And he'd reached his.

Except when it came to her. _Charlotte._

He hadn't been able to say no to the girl.

And so, the group had split into three smaller ones and they'd been on their way.

They meshed together in intriguing ways. She was good at hunting and foraging, he handled matters of security and planning. He was charming and she was straightforward. Charlotte could goad him into action with one of those lovely smiles and a glance from her luminous eyes, while he could get his way by promising her a story about the Miles of yesteryear. They spoke when they felt like it, sometimes going a whole day without exchanging words, a quick read of their eyes and facial expressions all they needed. On other days, they talked up a storm, regaling each other with tales of their childhood or the exotic foreign countries Bass had visited. At night they lay next to each other, near enough to reach out and touch, wanting the other close, even though they would never admit to it...the reasons unclear to them both.

But, they accepted it, and silently embraced the strange mutual need.

Working well together, they had developed a communication style quite similar to the one he had with Miles, able to read each other's eyes and slight twitches for the hidden message they contained. It had built over time, since before they'd split off from Miles and company. Really it had been building ever since they started on the road to Willoughby together, when Charlotte had given him that first iota of trust. He hadn't wanted to hold much confidence in it at first, hesitant for a double-cross, but after months of fighting, sleeping, and killing at each other's sides, Bass figured she pretty well had his back. If Charlotte still wanted him dead, it wasn't going to be by her own hand. She just wasn't capable of that kind of treachery. Her loyalty and sense of fairness were just two of the many things he'd learned about her, liked about her.

He sighed, cracking his neck, before reaching for some more kindling. There were far too many things he liked about Charlotte.

She was a brilliant fighter, always willing to learn more, to improve upon her abilities. He supposed part of her need to fight, to prove herself, had something to do with Miles, wanting to make him proud. She could scout, track, and hunt better than anyone he'd ever met. Charlotte had bravery that could teeter on the edge of folly, headstrong as she was, and although it had been tempered with experience, it was still there. She was smart. It wasn't until they broke away from Miles and Rachel and were alone together, that Bass realized just how intelligent the girl was. He mocked himself for his surprise. Having parents like hers, the probability of possessing a keen intelligence was high. But he figured one could be forgiven for such a lapse, as there wasn't much in the way of schooling out in the provinces. He'd seen it himself on many of the campaigns he'd been involved in. While some adults made an effort to teach their kids the basics, the needs of survival far outweighed any desire to impart education. Things were slightly better in the eastern cities where the Republic had been better established, but there had still been gaps in the reach and breadth of whatever schooling was available. Her snapping off quotes from Shakespeare to fit whatever straits they found themselves in, had left him equal parts startled and amused. Her intelligence lent itself to a good sense of humor, laughing at all of his stories about his younger years with Miles, Bass making sure to include as many embarrassing stories of her uncle as possible. It was a petty sort of revenge, but he let himself enjoy it just the same. Her eyes would dance with amusement, a smile lighting up her face, until she seemed to glow from within, her mirth making her damn near incandescent.

It was no secret that Charlotte was achingly beautiful, so lovely to look at, it would cause his gut to seize with desire. Bass would have to turn from her, gnawing at his lip or sinking his nails into his palm, just to hide the fierce lust he felt for her.

Forging a relationship with her had been easier than he'd expected. In the beginning, it was her loyalty and love for her family that made her willing to work with him. Having lost so many people she loved made her willing to do nearly anything to keep safe those that were still alive. It was an emotion in which Bass could readily identify. This mutual need they had was only one of a myriad of similarities they shared. He'd discovered they echoed each other with a resonance of differing time and place and circumstance. It was heady and intriguing and Bass couldn't help but push for a greater understanding.

She had hated him once, but it hadn't lasted long after they'd started working together. She wasn't the type of person to let hate fester, to let it become a living, breathing, out of control animal, ripping at your innards to be freed, to lay waste to everything around you. Bass figured he'd be the one to know, since he'd lived that way for years. No, with Charlotte, the hate had been the first thing to go as she became accustomed to his presence, disliked as it was, and saw the necessity of his inclusion on this trip, as they worked their way back to Willoughby. It had been supplanted with a wary tolerance as they'd teamed together during the journey to her family. They'd had their skirmishes with bandits and bounty hunters and the two always had each other's backs, thus extending if not outright trust, the first glints of acceptance from the girl.

It had taken awhile for him to break through Charlotte's walls. She was tough, inured to loss and unwilling to let anyone else get close to her, lest she lose them as well. He could well understand that motivation having lived it himself ever since the deaths of his family and Miles's abandonment. Those nearly five years without his brother had been so dismal, so insane, and oftentimes he'd glossed over the atrocities he'd committed, he supposed to simply keep going. Now, those past deeds of his would crop up at the worst moments. Bass knew he'd never forget, didn't really want to forget, because you couldn't undo the past, and he was trying to learn from it, to make better decisions in the future. And if those things hadn't happened, he wouldn't be with Charlotte now. He had no right to any of her forgiveness, patience, or time, but he wanted them all anyways.

And wanting things he shouldn't have had never stopped him before. Case in point: their current situation tracking down the erstwhile son he'd fathered with Emma, his best friend's fiancee.

Shaking his head as he absently stoked the growing fire, Bass shifted his thoughts back to their interaction after they'd reached her family's locale. They'd made it to Willoughby and she'd arrived back at the bridge with Miles, but her uncle hadn't wanted anything to do with him, even though Charlotte had tried to explain it to the man. Miles had told his niece he wasn't interested and they were leaving, but she hadn't moved from her spot near Bass, understanding by that point how useful he could be. Charlotte had realized after seeing her uncle's hand that they outright needed him. Hidden in the mill, later that evening, when he'd left that tied up Patriot with Charlotte, it had been the first time they'd let their eyes do all the talking. When he'd been brought into town in that cage, he'd seen what looked like guilt and sadness in the girl's eyes. After his sentence was pronounced and he was led through the town as a display of the Patriot's ascendant hegemony on his way to his execution, he'd passed her in the crowd. There had been sadness again, and something that looked like forgiveness. While he was convalescing, Charlotte had brought him supplies, and though she was still wary, she was kind and empathetic. None of which he deserved. He _knew_ this.

Bass didn't deserve Charlotte's kindness or her compassion, but he wanted them.

He wanted her.

Even knowing the man he'd become, the type of woman she was, he wanted her. Bass wasn't sure when the desire for her had started. He'd been intrigued by her when Strausser had held his gun on her; he'd thought she was beautiful and brave. But he'd been too blinded by his gluttonous grasping of power to think on her too much, other than jealousy that she had so simply ensnared Miles's affection and loyalty. In the tower, he hadn't thought much about her beyond saving her in order to save himself, per his deal with her mother. Bass figured he'd really started noticing her when they'd both been tied up in the empty swimming pool.

After all, he hadn't had anything else to do other than working the piece of tile loose.

Looking at her was a lot more pleasurable pursuit than thinking about the lineup of dead he was visited with every time he closed his eyes; especially when the faces constantly changed: first his parents and sisters, bodies always twisted and mangled, but faces somehow still recognizable, always colored with a pained, pleading mien, begging him for something, he never knew what. Next was Ben, always stoic, and Danny, so foolish and brave. These were rounded out by Emma, betrayed and imploring, and Jeremy, earnest and hurt. The faces and names of his fellow marines that had never made it home to their devastated families would flash through his mind, along with the bodies of the Iraqi children killed by suicide bombers in the streets of Baghdad. Then came the dozens of faces of his former officers who had displeased General Monroe for some reason or another or been blacklisted for treason when he'd been at his most paranoid. And finally, the gray bodies of countless dead men, women, and children at the hands of his former militia--bodies strewn upon bodies, in great heaping piles, eyes always open and sightless.

Anything was better than thinking about his transgressions, but Bass knew he didn't deserve a clean wash of his sins. Charlotte was both worlds away from this pain and intimately connected to it, so she was a happy medium. He could push everyone else away and only deal with the damage he'd dealt to the Matheson family when he looked at her. Two faces instead of hundreds was peace in Bass's world.

So yes, studying her was a far better pastime then mutilating his soul with the ghosts of the dead weighing him down.

When she'd been tied up across from him, he'd voraciously studied her face and form. Charlotte was just as gorgeous as he remembered her to be. He'd taken her unconscious state as a rare chance to watch her uninterrupted. When she'd finally woken up, he hadn't been able to resist asking her questions, having his first real conversation with her as an adult. She was quick-witted and knew exactly what to say to piss him off, a talent she hadn't lost the longer they'd known each other, however seldom she applied herself to the task anymore. But he knew exactly what to say to hurt her as well, as evidenced by him comparing her to her mother. Now, he tried to avoid doing so, as the wounded and tired look she would get took any of the fun out of it for him. With how bad things had been getting in this fight with the Patriots, neither of them wanted to hurt the other, not even superficially.

Things between them could be confusing, which was why it was difficult to pinpoint when his feelings for her had started to change. Bass figured it was some combination of their time in the pool, the journey back to Willoughby, her standing up to Rachel over him, the look she'd given him before he was marched to his execution, and his saving her life in the school. Somewhere in all of that, Charlotte had found a hole in his armor and slipped on through.

The way he felt for this girl was so wrong, but he just couldn't help himself. She was beautiful and good, honorable in a bleak, ugly world. Throughout their latest trek together Charlotte had grown to fully trust him, something he'd never thought he'd get from another person, ever again. She was alive and so lovely, filled with youthful vitality. No matter how many things went wrong in her life, Charlotte could never quite shake that whole-hearted optimism, that was all her own. Try as she might, she still believed in the goodness of others, that life could get better tomorrow. It was tarnished, but still an intrinsic part of her identity.

Bass couldn't remember the last time he thought that about life. If he ever had done so.

And while he admired and wanted Charlotte on a personal level, he hadn't been sure it was the best choice for her to come on this trip with him. He thought her too good to head off on a quest with him, one that would require the use of force and cold-blooded killing. It was that combination of her goodness and optimistic nature that he worried would be their downfall on this journey. He'd seen Charlotte fight and she was more than impressive, so he had no issues with the girl's abilities there. It was the situations requiring crossing over that proverbial line that had bothered him.

But she'd proved him wrong, he thought, smiling as he turned to look at her through the glass once more.

When one of their informants had set them up and they'd both been nearly killed for it, Bass in worse shape than Charlotte, they'd gone back to deal with the man. It had been Charlotte who had gotten to him first, angry over what had nearly happened to them, angrier for Bass than herself, and they found the detestable man in an alleyway trying to coerce a girl who couldn't have been more than 15 into giving him a blowjob. Charlotte had been disgusted and after shoving the girl away, she had slit his throat without blinking, thus clearing up any misgivings on what the woman could and _would_ handle in one fell swoop.

It had also been a huge turn-on for him. Charlotte mostly angry over him getting hurt...yeah, Bass could appreciate that. The last person who'd cared about him being injured had been Jeremy before he'd ordered his execution and years prior to that it had been Miles before their friendship had fallen apart. He'd forgotten what it felt like to have someone care about you, fuss over your wounds.

At another point, they'd been surrounded by Patriots, and Charlotte had a clear exit, and he'd expected her to take it. He'd been pinned down and Bass had wanted her to take it, needed her to live, had been trying to communicate that to her. The thought must have crossed her mind, cut her losses, get out alive, only she hadn't, ignoring his signal. He'd been angry until she'd tossed a couple of grenades at the enemy. Grenades he didn't even know she had--must have gotten them from Rachel, Bass thought shuddering, Lord knew she carried them--devices she'd used to cleave through the Patriots lines and reach his side. They'd made mincemeat out of them after that, gathering some intel and hitting the road, leaving the carnage behind them.

After that, he'd had no problem trusting her.

He'd opened up to her, found himself surprised when he shared things with her her that only Miles knew. He wasn't sure when it had happened, but Bass somehow knew she wouldn't use any of it against him. Had their roles been reversed and had he still been General Monroe, he knew he would never have been so kind. But, this was Charlotte, not him, and he was confident in the face of her honesty and acceptance.

Some might call him foolish for trusting a girl that had tried to kill him more than once, but that vengeful flame in Charlotte's lovely eyes had been extinguished. Now and again, those blue eyes of hers would be empty. It hadn't happened too often, but it was enough to set his nerves on edge when he saw it. Even though he hadn't known her all that long, Bass worried.

He didn't want her becoming like him.

She deserved so much better than the life she was leading. Charlotte deserved a comfortable home, with a steady man who could put food on the table, and half a dozen children she could smother in all her love and spoil--all of them safe and happy, with no need to ever pick up a weapon again. Instead she had become a murderer, lived hand-to-mouth, and was a wanted fugitive on the run with him. A man coated with so much darkness and filth the word 'human' hardly applied.

Charlotte deserved that life, a good and secure life, where she could have a home and those children. Far away from the evil of this dark world.

But the thought of her making that life with some nameless, faceless man always created a sick feeling in his stomach. 

And did it make him a masochist to envision a few of those imaginary children as the spitting image of himself?

Probably. It didn't stop him dreaming it just the same. If Charlotte knew he thought these things about her, she'd probably run at top speed to get to Miles and Rachel and hold hands with them around the fire, which was why he buried it. Bass couldn't lose her. He'd gotten so used to her, depended on her really, that the thought of not having her in his life, made his lungs seize up with the imagined loss.

Shrugging, Bass turned towards the sliding doors, leading towards the deck where Charlotte was still standing, leaning against a ramshackle railing attached to the cabin. He moved across the room, standing in the family room entrance, watching her. Her eyes were on the sky, head tipped back and her long honey hair cascaded down her back in loose waves. Resisting the urge to bury his fingers in that mass of hair, while sucking on her tongue, Bass looked for some simple topic to open up a conversation.

Before he could say anything, Charlotte spoke up from across the deck. "Are you going to come out and join me or just stand there staring at me?"

He grinned even though she couldn't see it. "I'll stay where it's warm thank you," He said, not bothering to answer her entire question, because, _yes,_ he would be watching her.

"Suit yourself."

A few more minutes of comfortable silence fell between them before Bass quietly asked, "Why'd you come with me Charlotte? This job, it isn't going to be easy. And that's not going to change, the closer we get to the California border."

She didn't respond right away, preferring to gaze into the sky. When she finally did speak her voice was soft. "I couldn't be around them and the lies anymore. I told them I was either going with you or I'd leave and wouldn't come back, not for a long time. There's so much dishonesty there and I needed a break from it," she said. "I know they have a history and I don't know what happened between them, but that's part of the problem, they won't tell me. I love them, but right now I just can't be around them."

Bass was shocked. She'd chosen him over her mother and Miles, over independence?

"Why?" He asked, unsure what was going on here.

She shrugged but didn't answer him, perhaps unwilling to explain her reasoning yet. He wasn't sure she herself truly understood what had been happening, and perhaps she needed a bit more time to wrap her head around the situation.

"Charlotte," he dragged her name out in annoyance, trying to get further answers from the woman.

"Come out here," she demanded, obviously hoping to throw him off track.

"What?" He couldn't have heard her right.

She turned her profile to him, and he could see the small curve to her lips. "Come out here with me," she repeated.

"Uh, no," Bass said.

"Why not?" She inquired.

He smirked. "Because it's cold and we have a perfectly warm fire in here."

"But....," she broke off, biting her lip. "Never mind," she said dejectedly, shoulders slumping as she turned away from him.

She sounded so forlorn, Bass felt like he'd kicked a puppy; he couldn't leave her like that. Sighing, he squared his shoulders. "What is it Charlotte? Why do you want me to come outside with you?"

"It's not a big deal."

"It obviously is to you, as you're asking me to come share it with you."

Finally she nodded, before looking back at him. "There's a meteor shower going on right now. I think this is going to be the peak and the weather is perfect for it."

She must have taken his silence for confusion, because she continued with her explanation. "I used to watch it every year with my Dad, Maggie, and Danny back in Wisconsin. I missed it last year because we were so busy fighting, well...you," she finished uncomfortably.

He was quiet for a few seconds. "Okay Charlotte."

"What?" She asked, surprise coloring her tone.

"We'll watch your meteor shower, you'll explain it to me, and then we'll warm up inside by the fire. Deal?" He asked.

She wandered over to search his eyes for ulterior motives, but he shaded them to hide his emotions. She was trying to hide it, but he could see that Charlotte was pleased she wouldn't be alone. "Deal," she said, lips curving into a smile as she turned to walk over to spot she'd previously set up for herself. It was a pile of old carpets, ratty towels, and moth-eaten blankets, and as he watched, Charlotte apportioned some for his comfort, before she sat down, her head tilted to the night sky.

He supposed it was ironic, Charlotte wanting to watch this meteor shower with the man that was culpable for the deaths of her father and brother. How was it only months ago she'd hated him more than anything, tried to kill him more than once? She was likely just as confused as he was about how they'd gotten to this point. Bass wondered if she might have some inkling of his feelings, perhaps recognizing the underlying tension, but he wasn't sure. It had been hard enough for him to accept, equal parts terrifying and freeing, so whatever was going on in her head must have been quite confusing.

So, now he waited. On her, on himself--looking for signs, waiting for what he didn't know. He wasn't sure what he wanted, but he knew it was intimately tangled up with the woman outside watching the stars.

Bass went back to the living room where they'd piled their belongings for the night and stoked the fire until it was roaring. He then grabbed each of them a heavy blanket to protect from the cold weather. As he wandered back to the doorway, he stooped over to grab his flask, pocketing it, continuing to the sliding doors, and stepping out on the deck, noticing she'd changed position, having laid down. He moved slowly, the wood creaking at his movement, but it bore his weight, and he was soon standing above her. Crouching down and holding his own blanket under his arm, he opened the other and spread it over Charlotte's body. She looked startled, but thanked him, and as her hands came up to grasp the edges, they brushed against his. Their hands stilled at the contact, the moment heavy as they looked at each other in the dim light. A distant howling, likely a wolf or coyote broke the moment, and smiling slightly, Charlotte turned away. Bass studied her profile for a few minutes before he too wrapped himself up to keep warm and reclined beside her to gaze at the heavens.

They were quiet as the streaming beams of light flew across the dark sky. They were beautiful, sparkling rays of light arcing through the black of night. Bass uncapped his flask and offered Charlotte the first drink. She looked at him askance for a second, before she took a sip and handed it back, wincing as the hard liquor hit her throat.

"What?" Bass asked, taking his own sip. She looked back at him. "You looked surprised that I was offering you my flask."

"It's silly," she said quietly. "Miles would only ever let me have a sip every once in a while. I think he was secretly afraid I'd discover its wondrous properties and become a full-fledged lush."

Bass laughed. "More like greed. Miles was likely close to empty and didn't want to share with anyone."

She smiled, eyes going back to the sky, likely presuming he was right, as it sounded like Miles.

"So," Bass said, inquiringly. "You were going to give me some information on all this?"

She was silent for a few moments before she started speaking. "It's called the Geminids because the meteor shower seems to come from the constellation Gemini, the twins. It wasn't categorized as a separate meteor shower until the 1860s. It happens every December and is one of the only large meteor showers originating from an asteroid. Most originate from comets..." Charlotte said, voice droning away as he chose instead to watch her in the light of the waning moon.

Bass couldn't resist the tug of his lips at Charlotte's textbook-like definition of the astronomical event. It was quite endearing. Ben had probably told her about it as a child with yearly repetitions, and she'd soaked the knowledge up like a sponge. At the thought of her father, Bass shut his eyes and turned away, guilt washing over him at the role he played in his death. He'd never been all that close to the man, but he'd had a certain respect for him as Miles's older brother and he'd admired him for his intelligence. When he'd gotten the news of his death, he'd felt regret, but had pushed it aside in his desperate need for power, focusing on the man's son instead and didn't they all know where that had led. Now as he reopened his eyes, it hit him in a wave, Miles and Charlotte had every right to hate him for everything he'd done to them.

Lost in his morose thoughts, he almost missed Charlotte talking to him and he turned to her once more. "I'm sorry," Bass said apologetically. "I got caught up in the splendor of the meteor shower. I didn't hear what you were telling me."

She couldn't tell if he was teasing her, so she decided to let it go, instead asking him for the third time what the stars or meteor shower reminded him of.

Bass was quiet for a few moments, eyes closed once more, as he remembered playing with Miles in the forest outside Jasper. In the thickest, darkest portions, you couldn't even see the sun, only catching glimpses of it through peeks in the treetops. The light would array around you like spokes forming a golden umbrella from above. You could twirl in and amongst those rays of light, and it had seemed so magical for two young boys. When he'd been a child, it was the closest he'd ever felt to heaven, or the heaven as he'd understood it in his limited, child-like comprehension of what it meant, formed through Sunday School and Father Rick. It had been one of his favorite places in the world.

"That's a nice memory," Charlotte said quietly. And it took Bass a few seconds to understand that he'd just said all of that out loud. He blushed lightly, feeling a bit sheepish, and grateful it was dark enough she wouldn't see it.

"What do the stars remind you of Charlotte?" Bass asked, wanting to get the attention off his childhood memories.

"My mother," she answered after a few seconds. "They remind me of her engagement ring she had to pawn shortly after the blackout, so we could get medicines and supplies. She told me it was like a star, only instead of being in the sky, it was formed under the Earth's surface for millions of years. It was so bright and I used to play with it, twisting it around her finger, just to see it sparkle. I remember thinking nothing could be prettier than that ring. Until I saw the stars with my Dad and later grew up, realizing diamonds were just a commodity, a way to buy food or medicine, just window dressing. Stuff like that doesn't really matter," she said quietly.

They returned to silence, continuing to watch the Geminids streaking white-hot across the night sky. It was peaceful and Bass couldn't remember the last time he had done something as simple as watching part of nature's glory. The long spindles of light would flash across the sky and disappear, only to be followed by another and another. The time with Charlotte was companionable and he was enjoying it.

Charlotte shuffled next to him, before speaking. "Maggie always said the stars reminded her of this antique crystal chandelier in her mother's house back in England. She said when it was fully lit there would be hundreds of reflective sparkles around the room."

"That's the second time you've mentioned that name," Bass said quietly. "Who's Maggie?"

Charlotte was silent for a few seconds. "She was my stepmother," she answered quietly.

"What?" Bass asked surprised. But then he shrugged it off, how was he to know Ben had remarried.

"My Dad thought Rachel was dead and after a few years he fell in love with Maggie. He'd found her alone and brought her back to our village. She was a British doctor. They eventually got married, well the type of marriage we had out in the provinces," Charlotte finished, pain heavy in her voice.

"Were they happy?" He asked, watching her face.

Charlotte smiled, probably thinking of her father and stepmother together. "Yes, they were."

"Good," Bass said simply.

He felt her shift next to him as she turned towards him. "You had a lot in common with Maggie," Charlotte said.

"How do you mean?" Bass asked, still looking at her barely visible features, not sure how a British doctor could be similar to a half-crazy ex-dictator like himself.

"She was alone in the world, no family, except ours. Maggie had been a single mother, her husband killed in a car accident before the blackout. She had two young boys she was raising alone. She came to America for a medical conference and got stuck here when the blackout happened," Charlotte said. "She never made it home or found out what happened to her children, she walked all the way from the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic, and then up and down the eastern seaboard, trying to find a boat home, but she never did. And she followed me across the country even when I didn't want her to," she finished sadly, alluding to the story he'd told her about him following Miles in his search for the rest of the Matheson family.

Bass wasn't sure he wanted to know, but felt he had to ask. "What happened to her?"

"She died on our journey to Philadelphia. Some crazy man stabbed her and cut an artery. She bled to death right in front of me," Charlotte whispered, a hint of pain in her tone.

He had been right he thought, closing his eyes. He shouldn't have asked. "So another of your family dead at my feet," he said, feeling the weight of his sins, hating that they'd ever touched Charlotte. "I'm sorry," he intoned gravely.

He could hear her shuffle as she turned to him and after a few minutes he met her gaze. He deserved her hate, but of course, Charlotte didn't give it to him. She was confused, he could see it in her furrowed brow. "I don't blame you," she said.

He blinked, surprised. "Why? She would never have left your village if it hadn't been for my men taking Danny."

Charlotte nodded, accepting his words. "You're right, but how are you responsible for her choice to leave our village and follow me? Even for my Dad, it's not your fault my brother raised a crossbow and my village resisted and one of your soldiers shot him. Yes, you helped set things in motion, so you have some distant culpability, but you were 1,000 miles away in Philadelphia. I can't hold you at fault for another person's choices. I did once, but that's not how the world works. It's been a hard lesson to learn, but I am trying," she said quietly.

Bass didn't know what to say to that, not sure he'd be able to get anything out through a throat gone suddenly dry from emotion. That had sounded an awful lot like absolution, something he knew he didn't deserve, not from this girl. As he swallowed hard, he opened his mouth to speak, but Charlotte spoke first.

"If anyone's to blame for Maggie's death, it's me," she whispered, voice wounded and small.

Confused, his brow furrowed. "How is it your fault Charlotte?"

"She always wanted to teach me medicine, surgery, and herbal remedies," she said, tears heavy in her voice, although she refused to let them fall. "I resented her, thought she was trying to take my Mom's place in our lives, so I refused. She kept trying, but I wouldn't give in, so determined to best her with my stubbornness. I suppose I was waiting for her to leave too, like my Mom had, but she never did. Maggie was always so good to me and I was awful, completely undeserving of her patience and love. If I had learned from her I could have saved her life," she finished brokenly.

"You don't know that," he said firmly, recognizing the survivor's guilt. He'd seen it often enough through the years. Hell, he'd _lived_ it often enough through the years.

"It's true!" She insisted.

"No, it's not Charlotte," Bass responded, emphatically. "I've been a soldier for 25 years and I've seen dozens of men bleed to death right in front of me, before the blackout and afterwards. Sometimes, a lot of the time, there's just nothing that can be done. It doesn't matter what kind of technology or doctors you have. People can just die because there is simply too much damage."

Charlotte took this in, perhaps surprised that people had bled to death before the lights went out. Her view of the pre-blackout world would be quite limited, a utopia of sorts with cartoons, candy, birthday parties, and ice cream. She seemed to think about it for a few seconds, before shrugging. "Maybe," she temporized.

Glad she was at least willing to consider it, Bass let it drop.

He was a bit surprised when she began speaking about her stepmother, trying to explain the situation to him. She told him how no one in the group really liked talking about what had happened. Other than a few quick words, and more than a few shared tears about her death with Danny, and a solitary conversation with both Aaron and Miles, Maggie's existence was mostly glossed over. He could tell that it hurt her too much to think on and could readily understand the sensation, pushing memories of his family to the back of his mind. Bass empathized with her as she mentioned that Rachel had been perfectly happy to ignore the topic the few times the name had come up in conversation. Even though it pained her, Charlotte told him that she couldn't really blame her mother for it, knowing it must hurt that another woman had helped raised her kids, loved them, and cared for them, as if they were her own. He wondered what had made her willing to open up about it now. He supposed it was possible Miles had told her about his family and that knowledge would lend itself to a certain comfort about the topic.

He'd noticed it before, but they really did have a lot in common. It was still a bit daunting to contemplate, so he decided to leave it for another time.

They laid there for another hour or so, not talking, simply watching the streaming lines of light weaving across the stars, passing his flask back and forth. The silence wasn't heavy, simply there, a comfortable lull, which allowed the few sounds of nature to creep around them. Charlotte would have happily stayed out there until morning, but as the night wore on, the temperature dropped even further and she began to shiver. When the first snowflakes started falling, Bass decided they'd had enough star-gazing.

"We should go in now," he said quietly.

She shook her head, but otherwise didn't say anything.

"You're shivering Charlotte; we need to go inside," he said quietly. "Don't make me carry you."

Bass got no response for a few minutes and was getting ready to haul her in himself, when she finally acknowledged him with a nod and a whispered, "All right."

As they made their way inside, Bass turned to look at her. "Thank you for showing me the meteor shower Charlotte."

She nodded at him. "Thank you for watching it with me."

The fire had fallen to mostly embers when they went into the main room and Bass took several moments tending it and putting another log on it. Once he was assured the flames were growing steadily, he turned around and found Charlotte stretched out in front of the hearth on the fur rug, boots and swords off, blanket wrapped around her, using her jacket as a pillow, and she had something similar set up for him at her side. He hesitated for a few minutes at the intimacy the scene painted, but the honest invitation in her eyes nearly brought him to his knees. There was no way he could refuse her this, if she needed it. Bass unbuckled his swords, laying them down next to the area in which his arms would rest, noticing she had done the same. He finally sat next to her, simply watching her for a few minutes, before he took off his own boots and reclined next to her on his back, pulling the blanket over him.

The two were silent for several long moments, although the comfort of before had deserted them. There was a heaviness hanging in air now, a sort of expectation of unspoken demands and needed explanations.

Turning on his side, Bass's eyes unabashedly roved across her features once more. She was so beautiful, so vital on this journey to find his son, her presence had become like the air to him. "Why are you really here Charlotte?" He asked, voice raspy from exhaustion and the cold.

She was silent for a few minutes, before likewise turning onto her side to meet his eyes. Her hand came up to cup his bearded chin, and he instantly stilled at the unexpected contact. They didn't touch much and Bass held himself motionless, part terrified, part yearning. Her thumb caressed the corner of his mouth while her first two fingers traced his cheekbone. Charlotte's eyes were fathomless in the firelight, mesmerized by her hand's movement against the shifting patterns of light on his skin and beard, her mouth quirking at some inner humor only she could understand. Her fingers maneuvered down to run lightly along his lips and mustache. He couldn't resist running his tongue against the pads as they stilled for a few seconds, stealing a taste, and it was worth it for the small gasp she released at the contact.

His lips formed a small grin at her reaction and this seemed to pull her from her reverie. She raised her eyes to his as her hand rose to cup his cheek once more, and she pulled herself up onto an elbow to look down at him, needing the height difference. "Why am I really here Sebastian?" She asked, quietly. "Why did you come back for me in the school? Why did you break that man's hand for touching my arm? Why do you pull the blankets up around me when you think I'm asleep during your turn at watch?" She stopped for a second to swipe her lips with her tongue, before continuing. "Why don't you sleep with any of the numerous women that have offered? Why do you always take the side of the bed closest to the door? Why are you always, always watching me?" She finished, voice dropping at the end to a whisper. Her litany of questions had seemingly left her tired and she sank back to her side, hand still on his face.

Bass sighed, rolling to his back and reaching for her hand, to keep it with him, slightly embarrassed, but not surprised that she'd guessed the meaning behind his actions. Meaning he hadn't really understood himself until recently. He enveloped her hand with his own and pulled it to his mouth, kissing the back of it before resting it within his own against his chest. Studying the wooden timbers above their heads, he tried to make up his mind. What to say? How much to tell her? He wasn't even sure he could put his feelings into words. Tilting his head to the side, he looked at her once more, her eyes still watchful on his face. "You know why Charlotte," he said finally, voice hoarse with emotion.

He couldn't lie, not to her.

She took this in as if weighing his statement, measuring his words against his actions, and after a few seconds she nodded. "So I do Sebastian," she said quietly. "And that answers your question in return."

For a brief second he was confused, until he remembered he started this asking her why she was with him, why she chose him. It took a moment to understand her meaning, reordering his thoughts, but he eventually nodded, chest feeling tight. Bass raised her hand to his mouth, kissing it again. "I guess it does Charlotte, I guess it does."

He released her hand and hesitantly reached for her, searching for something, unsure, but wanting it all the same. She slithered across the short distance separating them and settled against him. Her head nestled under his chin, and Bass wrapped his arms around her, instantly comforted by the sensation of her lying against him.

"Good night Charlotte," he whispered, laying a gentle kiss against her forehead.

He could feel her smile against his chest through the thin shirt he was wearing. "Good night Bass."

As they laid in front of the fire, Bass realized that whether he found his son or not, he was going to come out the other side of this journey with Charlotte right next to him. Whatever they had forged together, worked. No one else would ever understand or accept them, but it didn't matter. They knew what they had to offer, accepted their pasts, and would eventually be able to work towards some kind of future, together. He thought about watching the Geminids with her and how they had been so lovely to behold, and Bass finally understood that there was something just as natural and beautiful forming between them. It wouldn't happen right away, but it was inevitable, just like meteor showers in the night sky.

**Author's Note:**

> I left the meaning behind Charlie's answer to Bass somewhat open to interpretation.
> 
> Comments are wonderful...I'm addicted to them!


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